Silent Trigger: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series Book 3)

by BJ Bourg

  “What happened after the phone went dead?” Dawn asked again.

  “I…he…Hank kept trying to break through the bathroom door. He was having trouble getting in because it’s a strong door, so I think he went to his workshop to get something to help break it open.”

  I nodded. “There was an axe next to his body and a single chop mark on the door.”

  “I heard the loud noise and knew it was only a matter of time before he got inside.” Her watery eyes were pleading as she looked at Dawn. “He told me he was going to kill me like he killed those men. I had no choice. I didn’t want to hurt him. I loved him, but…but I…it was him or me, don’t you see?”

  “What did he mean when he said he was going to kill you like he killed those men?”

  “I shouldn’t have told him.” Cynthia shook her head violently. “It was all a bad mistake.”

  “Shouldn’t have told him what, exactly—?”

  A knock at the door interrupted Dawn’s question. She scowled and stood to answer. Before she could reach for the knob it swung open and the sheriff was standing in the doorway. “Y’all need to come quick. I’ll have a deputy stay with the witness while we’re gone.”

  We followed him as he walked briskly down the hallway and out into the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Back to the scene,” Sheriff Chiasson said. “Rachael and Melvin found something significant.”

  We followed him north through town, swerving in and out of traffic, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

  “It must be serious,” Dawn said. “He’s driving like we’re heading to a police shooting.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road and fighting to keep my mind off of last night’s kiss. We had a job to do and I couldn’t have my judgment clouded by personal feelings.

  Within minutes, we were turning down Jaguar Lane. The sheriff sped to the back of the street, but I backed off a bit. The sun was coming up and kids were about to step outside to wait for their buses. I didn’t want to risk hitting one of them.

  Sheriff Chiasson was already heading up the steps when I parked on the street. Dawn and I jumped out of my truck and headed in that direction, but stopped when Rachael opened a door near the wash shed and looked out. “It’s back here,” she said, “in the garage.”

  I hollered for the sheriff that it was outside, and we all followed Rachael down a narrow, covered space between the house and the wash shed. The door she’d exited was the entrance to a workshop. Another door on a side wall led to the garage. Once we were inside the garage, I saw Melvin in a corner photographing a large rolling toolbox. He looked up when we entered.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Solving your case.” He waved us over and pointed into the bottom drawer of the toolbox, where a small red satchel was shoved between a set of wrenches and a packet of screw drivers.

  I pulled out my flashlight and aimed the beam at the bag, which was unzipped and spread open. Inside, there were loose cotton swabs, a pack of latex gloves, and an ice pick. I examined the outside of the toolbox and saw a key sticking out of the lock. There were several other keys attached to the ring, including a truck key. “Where’d you get the set of keys?”

  Melvin grinned. “From the dead guy’s pocket.”

  “We also found a cell phone in a boot in the bedroom closet and a wig behind the seat in Hank’s truck,” Rachael said. “The wig had long dark hair.”

  I shot a glance at Dawn. “Cade did say he thought he saw a woman with long black hair in Wilton’s truck on the night he died.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “and he wasn’t able to see a face, so it could’ve been a guy.”

  “Katina was convinced he was into dudes, so it’s highly possible.” I turned to Melvin. “Can you get this ice pick to the lab as soon as you can? We need to know if there’s any DNA on it.”

  “Sure thing,” Melvin said. “Oh, and we went through the cell phones, but didn’t turn up anything interesting. One of them had no activity on it. We’ll get a warrant to be sure, but it doesn’t look promising.”

  “And we’re done with the scene,” Rachael said. “It’s all consistent with the victim’s initial statement.”

  I thanked them and returned to my truck with Dawn. I cranked up the engine and drove away. “Well, if that is the murder weapon, there’s one thing left to figure out,”

  “What’s that?” Dawn asked.

  “We need to know how Cynthia factors into all of this.”

  “God, I hope she’s not involved.” Dawn did not sound confident, and I shared her skepticism.

  It took us a little longer to get back to the office because we drove the speed limit, but it gave us time to process the information we’d received. When we were standing outside of the interview room and about to walk in, I asked Dawn if she was ready.

  “Ready or not…” She pushed through the door and put on her best smile. “Sorry about the interruption earlier,” she told Cynthia as she reclaimed her seat and opened her notepad. “Let’s see, where were we—?”

  “You were asking me what it was that I shouldn’t have told Hank.”

  “That’s correct.” Dawn leaned back in her chair and nodded. “So…what was it?”

  “I told him Wilton Michot and the owner of Twisted Long Necks raped me.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Dawn had a good poker face, but I knew she had to be as surprised as I was when Cynthia made that statement.

  “When did this happen?” Dawn’s voice was cool.

  “It was a long time ago. Right before I moved to Kentucky. I had gotten home from school and decided to go fishing in the canal. I loved to fish back then.” Cynthia smiled and stared wistfully at her hands. “I used to think it was so peaceful and safe, but I was wrong. I heard a dirt bike and a three-wheeler somewhere in the woods while I was walking to the canal, but I didn’t see anyone at first.”

  Cynthia explained how she’d begun fishing and was there for about an hour when a boat arrived from the south. An old man tied his boat to a tree about thirty yards down the canal from her and she later heard some banging in the old lumberyard.

  “I thought he owned the old building,” Cynthia said, “so I didn’t pay him any mind. A little bit later was when these three boys rode up on the three-wheeler and dirt bike. One of them approached me and tried to talk to me, but I told him to leave me alone. He didn’t like what I said and he came closer and his tone of voice grew angry. That’s when they all came at me and dragged me into that old lumberyard. The back door was open, but I didn’t see the old man. I was kicking and screaming and fighting, but it was no use. Once we were inside the lumberyard, they…they attacked me. It was…I just tried to block everything out.”

  Cynthia’s bottom lip started to tremble and her hands shook as she began recounting the horrific ordeal. The more she spoke, the more my blood boiled.

  “The third guy—they called him “Pierce” or something—began choking me and I blacked out completely. I couldn’t see anymore and I couldn’t move. At first, I thought I was dead, but then I realized I wouldn’t be thinking if I were dead. I was fading in and out, but I could hear what was going on most of the time, so I figured I must’ve still been alive.”

  I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked and I began visualizing the pain I wanted to inflict on Pearce Vidrine. Apparently, his wife wasn’t the first person he’d strangled.

  “What happened next was so horrible,” Cynthia said, continuing with her story. “I heard a man’s voice yelling from somewhere deep inside the lumberyard. He was telling them to stop what they were doing, but they only laughed at him. I knew it had to be the old man from the boat. His voice got closer and he was yelling that they were going to prison for what they’d done to me. One of them told him to shut his mouth. That was when I heard a weird cracking noise—it sounded like someone hit a watermelon with a tree branch—and the man stopp
ed talking. There was a lot of grunting and cursing and gargling, and it sounded like someone was getting beat up bad.”

  Dawn grabbed a tissue and handed it to Cynthia. After wiping her eyes, she continued in a voice that was so shaken it was hard for us to understand every word she spoke.

  “One of the boys started freaking out and the others told him to shut up or they would kill him, too. That was when I realized they had killed the nice old man.” Cynthia sniffled. “The one who was doing the most talking told them to unzip the man’s pants. He said if someone found the old man’s body, they would think he attacked me. They talked about burying him and then they discussed what to do with me.”

  Cynthia stopped talking for a long minute. When she didn’t continue, Dawn asked, “What options did they discuss?”

  “They talked about killing me and burying me with the old man, but one of them said it would bring too much attention. They said no one would care about a missing old man, but that the national media would get involved if a young girl went missing.” She shrugged. “I guess they brought me to the hospital, because that’s where I opened my eyes.”

  “I want to apologize in advance,” Dawn began, “but I have to ask some tough and probing questions sometimes. It doesn’t mean I don’t believe you—because I do…hell, I can see it in your eyes—it just means I need more information to prove the case. You understand?”

  Cynthia dabbed at her eyes with the wet napkin and nodded.

  “When you woke up in the hospital, some officers met with you and they asked you what happened. Do you remember?”

  “I remember them asking, but I didn’t remember what happened.”

  “So, when you woke up in the hospital, you didn’t remember anything about the attack?”

  “No. I felt like I woke up from a deep sleep—kind of how people describe coming out of surgery—and I had no memory of what happened during my nap.”

  “According to your mom—”

  “You talked to my mom?” Cynthia’s face tensed up. “Did you tell her I was here in Magnolia?”

  “I talked to her, but I didn’t tell her where you were. She was visibly upset, thinking you had come to Seasville and hadn’t called her. I simply told her you were probably very busy.”

  “I guess I have to see her sooner or later.” Cynthia sighed. “We never did get along—even before the attack.”

  “Your mom said she took you to see a number of professionals in an attempt to unlock your memory.”

  “I guess I had pushed the incident so deep inside that it wasn’t coming up until…” Cynthia stared off into space, frowning. She didn’t continue.

  “You know, this sort of thing happens sometimes in traumatic events,” Dawn said in a soothing tone. “It’s one of our body’s defense mechanisms and it’s completely normal.”

  Cynthia nodded. “I know. I’ve had more than one therapist explain it to me.”

  After another long moment of silence, Dawn asked Cynthia if she would mind revealing what had jogged the suppressed memory.

  “I was sitting at home watching television—in fact, it was the day you arrested Hank—and the news came on about some kind of hostage thing at the car dealership down the road.” Cynthia took a breath, exhaled. “And that’s when I heard that voice. It was Wilton Michot and he was one of the boys who hurt me. I’ll never forget that evil voice. Some people cringe at the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard, I cringed at the sound of his voice.”

  “And it all came back to you—just like that?” Dawn snapped her fingers.

  Cynthia shook her head. “I couldn’t remember the reason why I hated him at first, I just knew I did. Later that day, Hank came home and he was angry because they cut his hours at the shipyard. As you already know, he beat me pretty bad, but worse than that, he began choking me. I felt myself losing consciousness and that’s what triggered those old memories. Everything came back to me like a flood—the fear, the pain…all of it. It’s like I was hovering over my body, watching the events of that day unfolding in real time. I could see all of their faces in my mind—clear as day. Wilton was older when I saw him on television, but he was the spitting image of his younger self. I never knew his name until that day, though.”

  “So, this next question is very important,” Dawn began slowly. “Did you ever try to make contact with Wilton Michot?”

  “I didn’t make contact with him, but I did follow him one day.”

  I became instantly alert and studied Cynthia’s face carefully, looking for the slightest hint of deception.

  “Tell me about that,” Dawn said in her cool, poker voice.

  “Hank had passed out one day, so I took the truck and drove to the dealership. I parked across the street and watched and waited. I had the binoculars Hank would take to the mountains, and I used them to watch the front of the dealership. It was late in the day and I was about to give up and go home.” Cynthia grunted. “I was afraid Hank would wake up and realize I was gone, because then I’d have hell to pay, but that’s when I saw Wilton. He left in this fancy truck and I followed him up that old road to New Orleans. We drove for about a half hour and then he stopped at this bar.”

  “Do you remember the name of the bar?” Dawn asked.

  “Twisted Long Necks. I figured he wouldn’t recognize me after so many years, so I went inside.” Cynthia shuddered. “That’s when I saw the man behind the bar. I’ll never forget those eyes or that smile for as long as I live. When he smiles it looks like his mouth was cut open with a razor. I didn’t know his name until I saw his picture in the paper saying he was dead.”

  I knew instantly she was referring to Shelton Thomas.

  “He was the one who was calling the shots that day. He was the scary one.” She sighed heavily. “I had wanted to confront Wilton, but it was too scary, so I ran. I just turned and ran out of the bat and never looked back.”

  Cynthia began sobbing softly and Dawn put a hand on her shoulder, telling her it was okay and that she was very brave. After a long while, Dawn asked if she was okay to continue. She blew her nose and nodded.

  “You said Hank told you he was going to kill you like he killed those men,” Dawn said slowly. “Do you think he killed Wilton and Shelton?”

  “I know he did.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he’s the only one I told.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Monday, October 22

  “Where are you taking me?”

  I looked over at Dawn and smiled. She wore a thin sundress that revealed more of her body than I’d ever seen before. “I already told you—a seafood restaurant called Half Docked. It’s the perfect place for a first date.”

  “How many first dates have you taken there?” Dawn lifted an eyebrow and studied my face.

  I looked her right in the eyes. “This place is only good enough for you.”

  That brought a grin to her face and she turned to look out the window of my personally-owned pickup truck, watching the trees and marshland blur by. She was sitting on her hands and it seemed like she wanted to bounce up and down. I’d never seen her so playful, and I attributed it to the closure of the murder cases and the forthcoming trip to see her mom. She had expressed sheer joy in going back home to visit. I was happy for her, but wasn’t looking forward to the time away from her. I was starting to enjoy our time together and was worried I’d miss her.

  I finally turned into the paved parking lot and Dawn whistled as she looked up at the restaurant. The building itself rested high on pilings and the lower section was wrapped in screen and wire to keep out the mosquitoes.

  Before she could move, I jumped out of my seat and went around the front of my truck to open her door. She didn’t object. When she stepped out of the truck, her dress rode high on her thighs and my heart fluttered. We didn’t say much as we strode across the parking lot and up the stairs, each of us enjoying the breathtaking views of the surrounding swamplands. As soon as I opened the door to the re
staurant, the smell of freshly boiled seafood greeted us.

  A young waitress smiled warmly and waved her hand toward the dining room, which was furnished with thick wooden chairs and tables. “Y’all can have a seat wherever you like. We even have places out on the balcony.”

  Dawn’s eyes lit up. “It’s so nice outside. We should sit on the balcony.”

  I nodded and walked out back and found a table overlooking a large lake. Once we had made our drink orders, Dawn folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “How happy are you that the Michot-Thomas murders are solved?”

  “I’m thrilled. I thought it would never end.” We had spent most of last week wrapping up the reports and tidying up loose ends, one of which was the missing boat. After days of searching, Norm had located Theodore Simoneaux’s rotted-out boat at the bottom of Dead Man’s Canal and we’d been a part of the recovery effort. After spraying the boat’s ignition with a few cans of lubricant, we were able to unfreeze it and try the boat key we’d located inside the lumberyard—it fit. Cynthia had been able to identify the panties as hers, and Frank Simoneaux found a picture of his dad wearing the same eyeglasses we’d recovered from the lumberyard. The only thing we couldn’t find was the hammer, but Norm was certain it was still at the bottom of the canal, buried under decades of sludge.

  “Once the final lab results are in I’ll file it with the rest of the paperwork and it’ll be a wrap,” Dawn said. “And then I’m off to Arkansas.”

  “I’m glad you decided to do this.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Trying to get rid of me already, are you, London Carter?”

  “Didn’t the sheriff tell you?” I feigned surprise. “I’m going with you.”

  “I wish.” She smiled, but then the sides of her mouth drooped into a slight frown. “I also wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “So do I.”

  Dawn quickly dismissed the feeling and asked if I’d decided who would be the new snipers. I’d taken a break from preparing reports last Monday to run the tryouts and it had been a tough day. Competition was fierce and the quality outstanding.